Chapter 7

Kangho Yang had a beautiful wife whom he loved with a deep, consuming intensity. They had met as teenagers, their romance had been the talk of the playground through middle and high school. To their classmates, they fought as fiercely as they kissed, at war as often as they were in love. The explosions were the natural result of two passionate hearts pressed too close, too often — unable to keep their distance.

Kangho’s fire came from his father. His mother, by contrast, was all quiet patience, her voice rarely raised, her temper never seen. She used to tell Kangho that passion and passivity were made for each other, yin drawn to yang. One half puts out the other’s blaze, yet cannot live without it. She liked to joke that marrying a man named Yang had only confirmed her fate and that she was destined to be the yin. Feminine, shadow, servant, home.

Kangho’s father had been a politician of some promise until a stress-induced heart attack cut him down. From him, Kangho also inherited a silver tongue, and he put it to good use charming his playground sweetheart.

When he realised he was capable of love, Kangho knew that he could never love a woman like his mother had loved her husband. He had watched her break after his father’s death, and he would not be so fragile.

That was why Kangho’s wife, Miyoung, was all fire. If you crossed her, she came back at you twice as hard. Unlike others who wore their fierceness as armor, Miyoung’s temper wasn’t a front. It was who she was. Uncompromising because it made sense to her, not because she needed to hide or protect a soft, sweet core. When the two of them argued, it was a spectacle comparable to any opera or car crash.

Despite all the explosions, it was what came between that held them together. Constant quick kisses, endless laughter, always learning each other. All of it outweighed the arguments. The fights were only their greatest fears talking out loud. Both of them feared losing the other more than anything.

Miyoung was a far better mother than Kangho’s had ever been. She knew when to say no to her children (and her husband), when to sweep them up in her arms. She defended them in public and scolded them at home. 

As he looked at her now — hair tied messily with a single chopstick, eyes on her laptop — he wondered how she could still love him. Best to say something, before she realised her mistake.

“Someone put a hole in the GU Electronics building.”

“A hole? What kind of hole?”

“A hole-hole. What do you mean, what kind? It’s a hole.”

“Big? Small? Be specific.”

“About a meter across. Forensics poked at it today. Looks like someone just smashed the wall until it gave. Sledgehammer, maybe.”

“Must’ve been noisy. Nobody saw?”

“No one’s come forward. The chief wants us to keep a lid on it anyway. Woosung’s combing the CCTV now.”

“That poor boy. Let him meet a girl.”

“He has a girl.”

“Not for long with you as a boss.”

“You’re lucky I’m giving you details of a top-secret case. Don’t distract me with Woosung’s love life.”

“Someone has to. And what details? There’s a hole in a wall. This isn’t Memories of Murder. Where’s the body? Where’s the gun?”

“We don’t have those things, We have something better. We have a mystery.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Get this, nothing was taken. And by the looks of it, the guy never even stepped through the hole.”

“Listen to you. First—why’s it a guy? Second—no mystery. Just a nutcase with a hammer. Probably drunk.”

“Drunk and carrying a sledgehammer? And able to escape every CCTV camera in Yeoido?”

“Or someone with a grudge against GU. They’ve got protestors outside every day.”

“Ah, revenge. Then it had to be a woman. Another case solved by the irrepressible Park Miyoung.”

“Eat. I had to walk an extra block to get the food you like.”

“I’ve always loved you.”

“Mm. Eat your food.”

Boy 1: “Mate, we need a coffee. Oh mate, what have I done? You’re going to want to hear this.”
Boy 2: “Go on then. Basement in five?”
Boy 1: “I’m leaving now.”
Boy 2: “Alright, basement in ten.”
Boy 1: “You said five.”
Boy 2: “I say a lot of things, innit?”

Boy 2: “Oy, oy.”
Boy 1: “Sit down, latte’s on me.”
Boy 2: “Don’t mind if I do. So, last night?”
Boy 1: “Last night.”
Boy 2: “Did you do her?”
Boy 1: “I’ll get to that.”
Boy 2: “So you did. You slag.”
Boy 1: “Tension, mate. Let me build some tension.” 

Boy 2: “Build away. Build a tension bridge. Build a masterpiece of tenseness. Is tenseness a word?”
Boy 1: “Sounds like it should be. Anyway, I sold the Mrs a fake company dinner, headed to Garosugil to meet Red.”
Boy 2: “Is that what we’re calling her?”
Boy 1: “Yes.”
Boy 2: “Fair enough. How’d it go?”
Boy 1: “She was late. Twenty-five minutes.”
Boy 2: “Listen to you, stressing. You loved it.”
Boy 1: “Maybe a bit. We had a laugh. She thinks I’m funny.”
Boy 2: “You are funny. Go on.”
Boy 1: “She showed up looking delightful. Solid nine.”
Boy 2: “Mate, did you do a nine? I’ve never done a nine.”
Boy 1: “Getting to that bit.”
Boy 2: “Slag.”
Boy 1: “Dinner, then she wants to move. Taxi to Apgujeong. In the cab she asks the big one—how long was your last relationship?”
Boy 2: “And you?”
Boy 1: “I lied. Said seven years, just ended. She seemed shocked. Said hers never lasted more than a year. Wanted to talk about her New York boyfriend. Black guy.”
Boy 2: “Huge cock.”
Boy 1: “You’re a racist.”
Boy 2: “No, I just think you’re a huge cock.”

Boy 1: “Anyway. She picked a makgeolli place. Swanky. World’s tiniest toilet. She’s getting drunk, we’re playing fuck, marry, kill. Feet rubbing under the table. Then you call.”
Boy 2: “Just trying to save your existing relationship. You’re welcome.”
Boy 1: “Anyway. I lean in, we kiss.”
Boy 2: “You can’t be saved.”
Boy 1: “And off we go to the next round.”
Boy 2: “Who paid?”
Boy 1: “She did. Or her mum’s card did.”
Boy 2: “Nice.”
Boy 1: “We’re walking arm in arm, she asks where next. I say. “I can think of two places. One begins with ‘ho’, one with ‘mo’, both end in ‘tel.’”
Boy 2: “Fuck off. You didn’t say that.”
Boy 1: “I did.”
Boy 2: “Huge cock.”
Boy 1: “Seemed right at the time. And then—bang—motel right there.”
Boy 2: “OVER THERE. With my binoculars. I see a motel!”
Boy 1: “Exactly. We go in. Upstairs.”
Boy 2: “Did you perform?”
Boy 1: “Not my best work. But anyway—she’s in the shower, I see her clothes. She’s wearing a thong.”
Boy 2: “Unusual for a Korean.”
Boy 1: “She’s not really Korean. Grew up overseas. So I say—‘someone knew they might be getting laid tonight!’”
Boy 2: “You twat. She won’t think that’s funny.”
Boy 1: “No?”
Boy 2: “She probably felt like a slut after that.”
Boy 1: “Yeah. The look she gave me when she got in the taxi... not sure she’ll call back.”
Boy 2: “All on you, mate. What’d the Mrs say?”
Boy 1: “Called as Red’s cab turned the corner. I got home late, she wasn’t happy, but all good.”
Boy 2: “Who paid for the motel?”
Boy 1: “Me. Credit card.”
Boy 2: “Sneaky bastard.”
Boy 1: “Doesn’t matter. Red won’t call back anyway.”